


Gray Lace and Satin Roses

by riventhorn



Series: Only Yesterday [2]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur loves pretty things and Merlin loves Arthur in them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray Lace and Satin Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to "The Blue Danube" and is also set in London in the 1920s. Basically indulging my love of pet names and Arthur in a dress.

**Gray Lace**

Arthur turned on the lamp, and the light fell across the dress draped over the end of the bed. Only a lifeless swath of fabric, yet it managed to silently promise dancing and cocktails and compliments. He had kept it in the box, wrapped, until that morning, even though he had wanted to take it out immediately when he had first brought it home. But it was special—he didn’t want to spoil that by wearing it every day.

Silver-gray lace over a satin slip. A ribbon tied at the waist and short sleeves, draped in a classical, Grecian style. It brought to mind the lake in the park on a rainy day, the gentle swirl of the dark water.

He dressed slowly, savoring each moment. Knickers with a touch of lace as well, stockings, and a garter belt. Then the dress, slipped over his head, carefully adjusted so that the sleeves hung just so. The scratchy lace against his skin; the luscious slide of satin across his legs.

A few months ago, and he wouldn’t have been able to do this. But he’d finally mustered the courage—told his father to go to hell; that he didn’t need his _money_ , didn’t need his _expectations_ about marriage and a career.

And he was managing. He hadn’t been sure he could do it, at first, but he’d found a flat—cheap enough for him to afford—and found a job, and learned to cook a few things so he didn’t starve. He wasn’t making much money, but he was getting by, no longer stifled, trapped in that house with his father’s disparaging remarks. He could have pretty things now, if he wanted them, and he could wear them, too. He could go out in the evening and find a bloke and kiss him, bring him back here and not have to worry about his father finding out.

Admittedly, he hadn’t done that last bit yet. He felt too nervous, still, worried that another would surely sense his inexperience and laugh at him or treat him poorly. But one thing at a time. He wasn’t going to let that ruin his first evening in this dress, his reward for making it through these past months. And if he got picked up in a raid—well, who the hell would care? He could find another job, if he had to. And his father could bloody well deal with the shame of seeing his son’s name in the papers followed by references to Arthur’s inverted nature, the sneers and jokes about his state of dress. Uther could toss the paper aside, get on with his golf game, repeat to himself, _that isn’t my son_ , just as he’d said it to Arthur.

Arthur steadied his breathing—couldn’t let his hands shake for this bit. A little lipstick and then eyeliner and shadow. Finally the shoes—which didn’t match the dress, but he couldn’t afford new ones. He’d seen a pair—silver, with a T-strap and Louis heels—in a shop window and spent a good ten minutes staring at them before forcing himself to keep walking.

His friend William brought his car round and wolf-whistled when he saw Arthur. Arthur punched him on the arm, but then had to grab onto his elbow, still getting used to walking in heels. When they got to the club, though, William disappeared into the crowd, looking for a rough to pick up for the night, probably.

Arthur lingered at the bar, sipping his drink, fingers playing with the lacy fringe on his sleeves, debating whether he could work up the courage to dance.

“You’re a vision in that dress, darling,” a voice said, and he turned. A man was leaning against the bar next to him. Thin, dressed in a cheap suit, dark hair curling around his ears. His eyes were blue, and he was smiling at Arthur. “Marvelous. If I had my camera, I’d take a picture of you—just like that.”

Arthur flushed—flattered, but not wanting to show it. So he raked his eyes dismissively over the man’s suit. “I certainly look better than you.”

But the bloke just laughed and leaned forward. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Said in a stiff voice, which was better than an anxious one.

“Too hoity-toity to share a drink with me, your majesty?”

Arthur scowled. “You have appalling manners.”

“ _I_ have appalling manners?” The man shook his head, but he was smiling still, warm and inviting. “I’ll let you insult me again, if you tell me your name,” he offered.

“You’ll—” Arthur stared at him a moment and then couldn’t stop a rueful laugh. “I’m Arthur.”

“And I’m Merlin,” he replied, signaling for the bartender to bring them each another drink. “No magic, though.”

“Well, I don’t have Excalibur in my wardrobe, so I guess that’s all right,” Arthur returned, and Merlin chuckled.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, Arthur feeling increasingly hot under Merlin’s steady gaze.

“You do look gorgeous, though,” Merlin finally whispered, and he reached out to touch the silky lace of Arthur’s sleeves.

Arthur shivered and reached into his handbag for a cigarette, offering one to Merlin, who nodded his thanks.

“It’s the first time I’ve worn it,” Arthur said. Merlin moved a little closer, and Arthur cleared his throat. “I like the color, it reminds me—”

What it reminded him of was driven clean out of his head, for Merlin had put his hand on Arthur’s thigh. “Merlin,” he began shakily.

“Will you dance with me?” Merlin asked. He pressed a little kiss against the side of Arthur’s jaw, and Arthur found himself agreeing, saying yes in a sort of fog.

Out on the dance floor, Arthur stumbled, and held tightly to Merlin, moving into the dance. There were so many people—people watching him—and—

“They’re all jealous,” Merlin whispered. “They all wish they were dancing with you, my beautiful darling.” His eyes searched Arthur’s, and he added, “You don’t mind, do you—if I call you that?”

Arthur shook his head, feeling a little overwhelmed. Merlin spun him into a turn and then drew him back in, his hand tightening on Arthur’s hip.

Later, they shared a kiss outside of the club, and Arthur asked Merlin to come back to his flat. His feet were aching by the time they got there, so he slipped out of the shoes, tossing them into a corner. Merlin shrugged out of his jacket, and Arthur went into the kitchen to rummage around for some glasses and a bottle of wine.

He paused in the edge of the doorway, glasses in hand, painfully conscious of the tattered chairs, the stained wallpaper—all so barren and uninviting. But Merlin gave him that smile again, and Arthur realized that Merlin wasn’t paying attention to any of it, that he just kept following Arthur with his eyes.

They sat together on the davenport, sipping wine, talking a little. Merlin leaned in for another kiss, and Arthur put his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. It was quiet, only the sounds of the wireless in the next flat sounding dimly through the walls. Merlin’s fingers hovered by Arthur’s neck and then touched his skin before skimming down his body—over his chest, along his leg. Merlin slipped his hand under the skirt, rubbing the satin slip. A moan sighed out of Arthur’s mouth into Merlin’s, and he shifted, scrambling until he was straddling Merlin, one hand buried in his hair, the other gripping his shirt. The dress rode up his thighs, exposing the stockings and garters.

“Oh, fuck,” Merlin panted, pulling back slightly. “Fuck, Arthur.” He ran his hands up Arthur’s legs and rubbed along where the garters were digging into his skin, then kissed his way down Arthur’s neck.

“Merlin, I—” Arthur tried, had to stop and swallow, tug Merlin’s hair so that he left off kissing for a second so Arthur could manage actual words and not just moans. “I’ve never—never—”

“I’ll take care of you, darling,” Merlin said softly, exchanging a gentle, almost chaste kiss. “I don’t think I can carry you to the bed, though,” he added. “Love how strong you are.” And he rubbed Arthur’s arms, where the lace sleeves brushed his biceps.

Arthur shuddered at the rush of images the word “bed” conjured and tugged at the buttons on Merlin’s shirt, wanting to feel skin. Merlin helped, although his fingers were clumsy, too. Finally it was off, and Arthur ran his hands down Merlin’s chest, watching his nipples stiffen. Ignoring Merlin’s wordless protest, he slid off his lap, onto the floor, the dress pooling around him, so that he could kiss Merlin’s stomach, nosing the dark trail of hair leading down towards his groin.

Merlin pushed his hips forward, and Arthur undid the buttons on his trousers, Merlin’s cock a hard bulge against his hand. He hesitated, but Merlin lifted his hips, pulling down his trousers and underwear. He wound his fingers in Arthur’s hair, urging him forwards. “Your mouth,” he whispered. “Use your mouth, Arthur—just a little. Please.”

“I know what to do, _Mer_ lin,” he muttered, even though he had never actually done it, and his stomach was jumping with nerves. He shut his eyes, licked out with his tongue and caught the tip, making Merlin groan. Another lick, and then he sucked the head into his mouth for just a second before pulling off and looking up at Merlin. Merlin’s eyes were dark with arousal, his mouth open, face flushed.

Arthur smirked and stood up, brushing off his dress.

“Wait—what—Arthur!” Merlin protested. “You can’t just _stop_!”

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” Arthur told him. “If you want me.”

He walked towards the other room, hearing Merlin cursing behind him as he tried to stand up before admitting defeat and sitting back down to take his shoes and trousers all the way off first. Arthur leaned against the bed, smoothing the dress over his legs, keeping an eye on the doorway in the mirror. When Merlin appeared, he turned around, taking in Merlin’s lean body, his cock standing upright.

Merlin gave Arthur his own smirk when he saw what he was doing. “Damn right, I want you,” he said, coming forward. “Let’s get that pretty dress off you first, though. Don’t want to ruin it.”

Arthur regretfully agreed—the thought of wearing the dress while Merlin fucked him…well, he’d just have to get some cheap affair for those occasions. Merlin helped him take it off, holding it up to his face and breathing in Arthur’s scent before laying it carefully on the chair. Arthur waited, still in his stockings and knickers, the satin straining against his hard cock.

“Lovely,” Merlin breathed, cupping his hand to Arthur’s crotch. “So eager, aren’t you?” He nuzzled Arthur’s jaw, just below his ear, guiding him backwards towards the bed. Settling against the pillow, Arthur watched, heart pounding, while Merlin unhooked the garters from the stockings. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—Merlin rolled down each stocking, following its progress with his mouth, kissing and nipping and licking. And then finally Merlin was pulling off the knickers, and Arthur actually whimpered aloud when Merlin pressed his nose to the wet stain on the front.

“I want you to make noises for me, darling,” Merlin told him, stretching out, lining up their bodies. “I want you to let me know how good it feels when I open you up, when my cock is in your arse. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur promised, fingers going back to Merlin’s dark hair, loving the way it felt in his hands. “Just—just—Merlin, please.”

“Shhh,” Merlin soothed, nudging Arthur’s legs apart. “Didn’t I say I would take care of you? My beautiful, beautiful darling.”

That first time, Arthur came just from Merlin’s fingers alone, whimpering and moaning and crying Merlin’s name until he collapsed in a sweaty, trembling mess. He didn’t know if he could handle getting fucked on top of it, but didn’t want to say so and disappoint Merlin. But Merlin seemed to sense it, for he guided Arthur’s hand to his cock, pushing into Arthur’s fist until he reached his orgasm. He gathered a little of his come onto his fingers and brought it up to Arthur’s mouth.

“Just suck those,” Merlin murmured, and Arthur did, and then they held each other, stroking and petting and kissing. After a bit, Merlin stretched, asked Arthur if he was hungry.

“A little. Fetch me my robe, will you?”

It was soft and blue with silk ribbons, and Merlin wrapped him up in it, giving him a kiss as he tied the sash. Merlin pulled on his trousers again, then wandered shirtless into the kitchen. Arthur heard him banging around, but he felt too warm and drowsy and comfortable to get up himself, so he stayed in bed.

A little while later, Merlin returned with a tray of tea and toast and a few slightly stale biscuits. Merlin kept one arm wrapped around Arthur while they ate, taking turns feeding each other and trying not to jostle the teacups. “You’ve already got me fetching you things, bringing you breakfast in bed,” Merlin commented, voice teasing. “Are you sure you’re not a king?”

Arthur was dozing off on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s too early for breakfast,” he mumbled. “I like eggs for breakfast, anyway.”

“Duly noted, sire,” Merlin laughed. “But no,” he continued, stroking Arthur’s hair. “You’re not a king. You’re my sweet darling, aren’t you?”

“’Course I am,” Arthur managed over a yawn. He pressed closer. “And you’ll stay. You’ll stay, won’t you, Merlin?”

“Of course I will,” Merlin whispered back.

**Satin Roses**

The kitchen was hot, the customers rude, the tips poor—nothing unusual there, of course. Merlin slipped out into the alley behind the restaurant for a break, leaning against the bricks and smoking a cigarette, watching the traffic pass in the street. An hour left on his shift and then he could go home to Arthur.

He’d sold two photographs last week, giving him hope that maybe one day he really could give up waiting tables and focus on his pictures. He’d been despairing of ever selling his work, but Arthur had seen some of the photos and told him they were stunning and that he couldn’t possibly give it up. Of course, these days he used half his film taking photos of Arthur. His darling always protested at first, but secretly Arthur loved having Merlin fussing over him and dressing him in pretty frocks.

His favorite was one of Arthur sitting on the bed, legs curled up, feet bare, leaning on one hand. He wore a simple blue dress, although it looked dark gray in the photo, and one of the sleeves was slipping down, exposing Arthur’s shoulder. His face was slightly turned away, and the light coming in from the window created soft shadows.

Fuck, but he worshiped Arthur. Nothing else to call it.

When he got home, Arthur was setting the table, propping up the shaky candleholder with a piece of cardboard. He’d insisted on making supper because it was Merlin’s birthday. Granted, the meal consisted of tinned fruits and some cold sausages because Arthur really couldn’t cook at all. But there was a large chocolate cake from the bakery round the corner to finish it off, so Merlin didn’t tease him too mercilessly about his haplessness in the kitchen, particularly not when Arthur swirled his finger in the remains of the frosting on his plate and let Merlin lick it off.

Arthur’s smile faded into a puzzled frown, though, when Merlin handed him a wrapped package. “But it’s your birthday,” he protested.

“I know. Open it,” Merlin told him, carefully watching Arthur’s face.

Arthur loved getting presents, too—a fact which had led Merlin to squander more than one hard-earned paycheck on scarves and books and records, just so he could enjoy the way Arthur smiled and tore eagerly into the paper. This time, Arthur pulled off the lid of the box to reveal a mass of tissue, which yielded to pale green chiffon and cream lace.

“Oh,” Arthur murmured, lifting out the negligee. “Oh, Merlin.” The chiffon fabric was sheer, with lace at the top and extending for several inches at the bottom. And little pink silk roses danced across the bodice. Arthur ran his hands over it adoringly.

“I want you to wear it while you fuck me,” Merlin told him, and Arthur’s breath caught, blue eyes turning to Merlin with a sultry promise.

He had to take a few pictures, first. Arthur leaning against the window, looking out, one knee slightly bent, hard cock tenting the filmy material of the negligee. Arthur gripping one of the bedposts, bending over, the lace just brushing the tops of his thighs. Arthur kneeling on the bed, nightgown bunched at his waist, taking his cock in hand and arching his head back.

“You won’t last a minute, if we don’t stop,” Arthur finally said, taking the camera away and guiding Merlin towards the bed. He undid the buttons on Merlin’s shirt, easing it off, and then knelt down to do the trousers. The short nightgown seemed to make his legs look longer, and Merlin loved the way they bent and flexed, the way Arthur smiled up at him, palming Merlin’s leaking cock.

Merlin lay down and Arthur climbed on top of him. He started rubbing his body along Merlin’s, the negligee sliding between them. Arthur kissed him—on the mouth, on his neck, little kisses across his forehead. His hands stayed stubbornly above Merlin’s waist.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped, fingers holding tightly to the back of the negligee, tugging insistently. “Arthur, darling, I need more. Your mouth and—and your fingers, in me, opening me up. Want it, Arthur. Please.”

“Reduced to begging already?” Arthur whispered, fond, smug. He pulled at Merlin’s arm, turning him over onto his stomach, and Merlin settled, cock rubbing torturously against the sheets.

He expected Arthur’s fingers, but instead felt Arthur’s warm breath against his balls. Fingers spread his arse and then Arthur started licking, wet, teasing around Merlin’s hole. “Oh,” Merlin moaned. “Oh, darling, fuck that’s—oh, oh, _God_ ,” when Arthur’s tongue slipped inside him. Then a finger, pushing gently, replaced the tongue, and Arthur suckled at his balls.

The wonderful sensations stopped, suddenly, and Merlin whimpered, but Arthur was back a second later, fingers slick this time as they entered him. “Do you need more?” Arthur asked, rubbing Merlin’s back with his other hand. “What else do you need, Merlin?”

“Mount me, Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, head turned to the side, pressed against the mattress. “Fuck me, darling. That thick cock of yours—oh, _fuck_ , I want it, Arthur, want it—”

He moaned again when Arthur pressed the head of his cock against Merlin’s arse. A steady push got him inside, and then short thrusts, each one taking him deeper. Merlin could feel the negligee draped over his back, brushing against his hips. He thought of how Arthur must look, the pale green fabric turned dark from sweat, sticking to his skin, the lacy hem swaying as Arthur flexed his hips, dragging his cock in and out.

Each thrust sent Merlin sliding down towards the mattress until he was prone, Arthur heavy on his back. Arthur got an arm under Merlin’s chest, pushed up his knee, and started fucking him hard, panting against Merlin’s shoulder. He held his breath as he came, face pressed to Merlin’s hair as his hips jerked forward.

Merlin wriggled under him, whining, and Arthur managed to heave himself off, scooted back so he was leaning against the headboard. He drew Merlin into his arms and reached down to fondle Merlin’s aching cock, stroking until Merlin’s orgasm slammed through him, and he collapsed back against Arthur’s chest, heart pounding.

Dimly, he felt Arthur nuzzling his hair, lifting his knee a little so that his fingers could slip back into Merlin’s hole, fucking gently.

“You’re so wet now,” Arthur murmured, and a little while later, he lifted Merlin up, gripped his renewed erection so that Merlin could sink down and ride him.

Merlin put his arms around Arthur’s neck and rolled his hips while Arthur teased the hem of the negligee over Merlin’s half-hard cock. It was so sensitive—Merlin could feel every brush of lace, the cool, tantalizing touch of the chiffon. He pinched Arthur’s nipples through the fabric, pushing his cock against Arthur’s stomach, the negligee trapped between them.

“ _Merlin_.”

He licked at Arthur’s mouth, kissed tenderly, while they grew frantic and demanding where their bodies joined.

When Arthur had finished with a stuttering groan, Merlin slid off, tumbling him onto the pillows, lace and chiffon tangled around their legs. “I want to keep you just like this, always,” Merlin whispered.

“I’d get too cold, when winter comes,” Arthur whispered back, smiling, tracing Merlin’s mouth with his finger.

Merlin nipped at it. “I’d find ways to keep you warm.” He smoothed his hand up and down Arthur’s side. “I wish I could buy you furs and silks—everything you ever wanted, my beautiful darling.”

“I want you.” Arthur moved closer, resting his head on Merlin’s shoulder. “Just you.”

Merlin rubbed his fingers at the nape of Arthur’s neck. “Well, one day we’ll be able to move into a nicer flat at least. And I _will_ get you a lovely ring. Maybe not gold, but you can wear it right here,” and he lifted Arthur’s left hand, kissing it.

Arthur drew a quick breath and pulled back, fixing Merlin with a startled, hopeful gaze. “You mean,” he hesitated, and Merlin could feel him trembling. “You mean you’d really want me that long? I thought—”

“What? That you were just some casual fling for me—is that it?” And when Arthur nodded, Merlin hugged him close, tight. “Oh, Arthur.” He tilted Arthur’s face so that they could look at each other again. “You’re _everything_ to me. I love you my sweet, sweet darling.”

He kissed away the few tears, surprised because Arthur never cried, not even that awful night when he’d been mad at Merlin, walked out of the club by himself, and before Merlin could get to him, two men had dragged Arthur into an alley, started punching and slapping him, calling him a fairy, a poof, a fucking whore. Merlin had flung himself at one of the men, wrestling him off Arthur, but God knew where it might have gone if a bobby hadn’t shown up, and he and Arthur had taken advantage of the momentary distraction to run like hell. Back in their flat, he had cleaned the gash on Arthur’s forehead, gotten some ice to press to Arthur’s swelling jaw, and Arthur had sat still in a brittle quiet, but he hadn’t cried.

“Love you, too,” Arthur was whispering now, in between kisses. “So much, Merlin. So much.”

They stayed in bed all evening, eating cake, looking at automobile ads in the paper and pretending they had enough money to buy one, dozing off and waking to exchange sleepy, chocolate-flavored kisses.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Altocello drew a gorgeous piece of artwork for this of Arthur in the negligee. See it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/407793.html)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Merlin's Favorite {fanart}](https://archiveofourown.org/works/407793) by [altocello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altocello/pseuds/altocello)




End file.
